Journey to the center of the Hundred Acre Wood
by Batmanfan12
Summary: The Hundred Acre Wood is dying...fast. Things are vanishing and if Christopher Robin doesn't act soon, everyone he used to believe in will vanish forever. The only problem? He's lost and a shell of his former self. Can Chris' new friend, Emily Warren, restore his imaginative ways and save the HAW?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! So this is my first Winnie the Pooh fanfic. I got some inpirtation after I found out there's a new movie coming out in Augest. I've never written a stiory for this before so please bear with me. This is set in the 50/60s I guess and will center around Emily (my OC) and Christopher Robin at the start for a bit but then of course Pooh and the others will come into play. Christopher Robin will be referred to a Chris unless in flashback or something. This will be slow moving but completely worth the read. Enjoy!**

 _Christopher Robin laid on the shiny green grass with Pooh. His arms were behind his head and he let out a sigh of contentment. Watching the clouds with Pooh was always his favorite thing to do._

" _Christopher Robin?"_

 _Glancing over at his beloved bear, he asked, "Yes Pooh?"_

" _Why are clouds white?"_

 _Christopher Robin frowned. "Well, I don't know. Perhaps because the sky's blue and white goes with any color. That's what mother says."_

" _Or maybe they got all the honey sucked out of them," the bear said thoughtfully, rubbing his head as he thought._

 _Christopher chuckled. "Silly old bear," he brought Pooh closer to him, resting his cheek on the bear's head._

" _Christopher Robin, are you ever going to leave me?" Pooh asked him._

" _I have to leave for school, but I'll never you, Pooh or anyone in the Hundred Acre Wood."_

" _Promise?"_

" _I promise," Christopher gave him a sweet smile._

 _Four years later_

"Happy birthday, Christopher," his mother gushed, removing her hands from his eyes.

Christopher Robin gasped at the beautiful sight; a delicious cake was set on the table with ten candles in the middle. The room had been decorated with balloons, streamers and his father's old record player was humming a tune softly in the background.

"Oh, is it all for me?" he was afraid if he spoke any louder, it would all disappear.

"Yes, sweetie," his mother smiled. "Go on, blow out your candles and make a wish."

Before he did so, he gave his parents a hug, thanking them profusely. Then he sat in his favorite chair, one finger on his chin as he thoughtfully contemplated on what to wish for. His face lit up when something came to mind He blew out the candles in one breath.

His parents cheered. "What did you wish for, Christopher?" his father asked.

Christopher laughed. "I can't tell you. It's a secret, silly. If I tell you, it won't come true."

His father pretended to be surprised. "Oh, that's right! Silly me." He ruffled his son's hair, making the ten year old giggle again.

"I can give you a hint, though," Christopher Robin's eyes danced with happiness. He leaned in, whispering, "It has to do with Pooh."

His father faltered for a moment but recovered his composure quickly. "Your stuffed bear, Pooh?"

"Who else is named Pooh, father?" Christopher thanked his mother when she gave him a generous helping of cake. He didn't notice his parents sharing a look of concern.

"I just didn't know you still played with him, that's all," his father said carefully.

"Of course I do! I could never stop playing with Pooh Bear," Christopher said incredulously. "He's my best friend, just like the others in the Hundred Acre Wood are."

"What about Theodore, Christopher? Isn't he your best friend?" his mother frowned.

Christopher shrugged, prompting his father to nudge him. Shrugging was not allowed in their household. "Theodore is dreadfully boring, mother. He doesn't like to play pretend or go to the Hundred Acre Wood. All he likes is shooting games or baseball."

"What's wrong with baseball?" his father was a huge sports fan. Christopher was not. "It's an American favorite."

"But we're not even American, father," Christopher Robin reminded him. "What's so great about it anyway?"

"Well it's uh, it's a good thing for boys your age to be interested in. Builds character and shows you how to be a good leader," his father explained with his mother nodding in agreement.

"It will teach you sportsmanship and I bet you would have a lot more friends if you found other boys who like it too."

"All from throwing a ball?' Christopher said skeptically.

"Indeed," his father said. "You need to broaden your horizons. You can't do that by spending so much time by yourself. And you certainly can't do it by playing with your stuffed animals anymore. You're ten years old, Christopher. You need to grow up."

"Grow up?" Christopher said horrified. "I can't do that!"

"Of course you can," his mother reassured him. "Growing up is fun. You get to learn and do special things only grown ups can do. And you'll meet a lovely lady one day to marry."

"But I don't want to marry a lovely lady," Christopher protested. "I want to spend time with Pooh and Tigger and Rabbit and everyone else in the Hundred Acre Wood."

"That's quite enough," his father said sternly. "I have had enough of this Hundred Acre Wood nonsense. If you cannot separate yourself they will have to go."

'Go?" Christopher cried, standing up abruptly and pushing his chair away. "Go where?"

"Away," his father said gruffly. "Where all the old stuffed animals go."

"But father!"

"Alan," his wife laid a hand on his shoulder. "Is there really a need for this? Those toys were given to Christopher when he was a baby. I'd hate to see them go."

"Dorothy, you can't possibly insist they stay. Look at all the trouble they're causing. They need to go and that's that."

"Father please," tears were beginning to leak out of the ten year old's eyes. "I'll stop playing with them, anything. Please don't make me get rid of them. I beg of you, sir!"

"You see," his mother pointed. "He's willing to stop playing with them. Isn't that enough? We'll put them in the attic until he's older. Then he give them to his children. How's that sound?"

His father thought for a while, finally saying, "All right. He can keep them. But I don't want to hear you even breathe in that attic unless your mother and I say it's okay. Do you hear me, Christopher Robin Milne?"

"Yes sir," the child said obediently.

From then on, Christopher Robin's beloved toys were laid to rest in the attic. The boy was distraught without them. He missed everyone, especially during thunderstorms when he would typically hug Pooh close for comfort. Eventually he learned to just hug his pillow, but it wasn't the same.

He was also not allowed in the woods anymore for pleasure. His parents forced him to use his time for productivity, like reading or literature. His father tried to make him a sports fan but listening on the radio but Christopher had no interest in ball games.

His middle school and high school years were dull. He had no friends to hangout with so he was often alone. No one wanted to be friends with the boy who used to talk to his stuffed animals. His parents usually tried to arrange a playdate with one of the neighborhood children in hopes he would find a friend that was human. Alas, the only thing it did was make him long for Pooh and his other friends. He didn't care what his parents said. _They_ were his real friends; they understood him better than anyone else. Eventually, his parents sat him down and tried to explain to him that Pooh was just a stuffed bear; he couldn't talk nor could his other stuffed toys. He'd imagined the whole thing. There were no daily adventures or rescue missions. Pooh hadn't tried to search for him after he went to school for the first time. None of it was real.

But Christopher wasn't having it. He kept insisting to them that they were wrong; it had been real; as real as he and they were. After weeks of going back and forth in arguments, something that Christopher Robin _never_ did, he was always such a polite, obedient boy, his mother saw no choice but to suggest therapy.

" _Therapy?" Christopher Robin had wrinkled his nose._

" _Yes, therapy," his mother nodded sternly. "Perhaps it will help us understand you better."_

The sessions lasted an hour each visit. Christopher sat in a small office with a kind lady. She often made him talk but occasionally added tidbits about her herself as well. She said the same thing his parents said to him; that none of what he thought had happened had truly happened. Poor Christopher Robin was so confused. It all started to make sense when she further explained that his lack of friends as a child caused him to have imaginary friends who just happened to be his stuffed animals. Because of that, they 'came to life' whenever he felt like talking or playing with them and would 'go back to sleep' when he had to leave, such as for dinner.

He resisted at first; claiming that she didn't know him or Pooh well enough. It wasn't like that at all. But slowly, after a month or so of sessions, he began to see that maybe, just maybe, she was right. He felt a bit mortified too, being nearly a teenager and still playing with his stuffed toys. No wonder no one wanted to be friends with him!

After two months of therapy, his therapist declared him to be 'cured' and his parents were overjoyed. It was all wonderful. Christopher didn't speak about Pooh or the Hundred Acre Wood ever again; and he'd even tried making friends at school. It never worked, everyone still thought he was a baby and teased him for it, but it wa a start.

Despite this, no one seemed to notice the change in Christopher. His energetic, playful, imaginative tendencies ceased and he became moody, more serious and a lost teenager who really didn't know where he belonged in the world. This was only worsened by his father's death when he was fifteen. His mother tried to raise him the best she knew how, but she was a complete loss with this new Christopher Robin.

 _A few years later_

"Christopher," his mother called. No answer. She repeated her words. "Christopher!" Still no answer. With a huff, she went up the stairs that led to her son's room. There she found her son lying diagonally on his bed with a blank look on his face., "Christopher Robin, what on earth are you doing? You have to leave soon. Stop lollygagging around and move these boxes downstairs."

The young adult, now twenty, lifted his head up to meet his mother's eyes. "Do you have to call me that, mother? I've told you to call me Chris." He'd grown to hate being referred to by his full first and middle name. He really couldn't explain why he hated it, but he did. It seemed to bring back fuzzy memories of someone's distant voice, a very familiar voice that he couldn't name.

"I'm sorry," his mother smiled slightly. "Old habit. You used to tell everyone to call you Christopher Robin."

"Yeah, when I was six," he rolled his eyes. Glancing up, he asked, "Is Emily here yet? She's picking me up so we can leave." He saw his mother stiffen up at the mention of his best friend but pretended not to notice.

"Not yet," she replied tersely. "Darling, are you sure you want to share an apartment with her? It's rather improper, don't you think?"

"If it were any other girl you wouldn't care," he grumbled. His mother hadn't taken a liking to his new found friend and future roommate. Emily Warren was someone he'd met at his new apartment complex that he planned to stay at. Turns out she was from America and was having a tour of the place the same day as he was. Even though their personalities were vastly different, they hit it off immediately and decided to rent the apartment together, something that hadn't pleased his mother in the slightest. "Why do you hate Emily so much?"

His mother gasped. "I don't hate her. I just...she's so.. She's just so improper, Chris," she fumbled with her words.

"There's that word again.."

"Honey," his mother sat on the edge of his bed after maneuvering through the boxes that littered his room. "You can't deny that she's a bit...eccentric." Eccentric was an understatement in describing Emily Warren. She was of average height but exceptionally pretty, he had to admit. Her hair was long and dark blonde in color. Her eyes were almond green and she wore thick framed glasses. Her fashion sense was what drew attention to her, not in the most positive way either.

"I know," he replied patiently. "It's one of the things I like about her." His mother looked like she swallowed a lemon.

"You _like_ her?"

"Not like that," he said quickly to her relief. "Boys and girls can be friends, Ma."

"Mmm," she said with a pinched face. "Well, are you all packed?"

"I think so," he shrugged. "Boy, I can't believe I'm moving out. I'll miss you, Ma," he sideways hugged her, showing a rare touch of emotion. She hugged him back, hurting her chin on his hair.

"I'll miss you too, Chris. Please behave while you're away."

"Ma," he groaned. "Please don't start-"

"And call every once and awhile. You can't make your dear old mom wait to hear your voice. Every night would be sufficient."

"MA!"

"Oh alright," she let go of him but kept a hand in his hair, creasing it. "Every sunday, you hear?"

"Yes Ma," he rolled his eyes again but with no annoyance this time.

"Good," she smiled lovingly at him.

A knock on the door downstairs alerted them that someone was there and Christopher knew right away who it was; Emily had a way of pounding on doors, a trait, she claimed, she inherited. This made him weary of meeting any family members.

"That's Emily!" he jumped off the bed and rushed down the stairs to greet her at the front door. "Hello Emily."

"Hello Christopher Robin," Emily beamed, using that blasted nickname even after he'd told her numerous times not to do.

"Emily," he scolded her. "I thought I've told you not to call me that."

"You have," she grinned mischievously. "I just don't listen." The girl's head bobbed, making her ponytail woosh. "Might I come in?" without waiting for permission, she slid right past Chris and into the house.

"Sure, make yourself at home," Chris said dryly.

"Thanks doll," Emily winked. "Now, where's your room at?"

"This way," Chris directed her. "Now be careful what you say, Ma hasn't totally become fond of you yet." His mother had her own opinions about what was a man and woman's place while Emily completely had her own different views and opinions. For one, Emily tended to dress rather strange for a girl her age. Chris had convinced her to tone it down and dress more traditional for today.

"She's going to have to get over it sometime, Chris. She's going to see me at the apartament so she'll have to get used to it," Emily tugged on the plaid skirt that was just above her knees. She typically wore overalls or, if she dared to get a rise out of the public, jeans that she'd borrowed from Chris, usually with a tie dye shirt or something mismatched that no one would even think about wearing. He was most relieved to see her hair was not in some ridiculous style with dozens of bareets or those 'space buns' she'd made up.

"I know," he sighed. "I know, but you know how she is." A raised eyebrow from Emily prompted him to say, "Oh, you know what I mean."

They'd made it to his room, his mother was still seated on his bed, legs crossed. Her smile became rather fixed at the sight of Emily. "Oh, hello. You must be Emily."

"Oh yes! Emily-with-a-y T. Warren at your service!" Emily grinned, shaking his mother's hand roughly.

His mother rubbed her arm afterwards, glancing at Chris. "And what does the T stand for?"

"Nothing! My parents couldn't decide so they went with T. Isn't that nifty? I got a letter for a middle name!"

"Yes, it's very nice," his mother didn't sound completely sincere. Changing the subject, she asked, "Are you helping Chris move his things?"

This snapped Emily into remembering why she was there. "Oh yeah! I'll get right on that." She began to grab the nearest boxes, taping them shut, after peeking inside of course. Chris shook his head, rolling his eyes. Emily had a knack for being the most nicest person he'd ever come to know.

Chris took down his memorabilia from the shelves close to his bed. He noticed his mother standing stiffly in the middle of the room, watching Emily with critical eyes.

"So, Chris tells me you two are going to be roommates," she feigned a neutral tone.

Emily nodded eagerly. "It's better than living by yourself that's for sure. I would die of boredom, wouldn't you? Now we can do all sorts of fun stuff together like play pretend and make forts and-"

"Excuse me?" his mother interrupted. "Did you say play pretend? And...forts?"

"Of course," Emily's tongue was at the corner of her mouth as she fumbled with the tape. He had to smile at that. She was at her most concentrated when she looked like that. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Christopher Robin?"

Chris flinched under his mother's gaze and his friend's question. No, he most certainly would not like that. Emily was more imaginative than he was, in fact, she was enough for the both of them. "Not really, Em. It's a bit childish, don't you think?"

Emily stopped what she was doing to blink at him confusedly. He sent her a pleading glance not to say anything. He didn't think he could handle it if his mother let it all out on her for her opinions. He could already feel the disapproval in the air. Forunitely, Emily was distracted by an airplane model she'd found; unfortunately, she further pushed her luck by pretending it was flying while making noises.

His mother was at his side in an instant. "What on earth is she doing?" she whispered furiously.

"Uh," he tried to find the right words. "Playing?"

"I can see that," she said. "But more importantly, _why_ is she playing? She's twenty years old for pete's sake!"

"I know," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"How about I go make you kids some lemonade and cookies?" without waiting for a response, his mother left the room, slamming the door behind her. Chris sighed. His parents had become intolerant of imagination and despised it. He knew at the moment his mother was feeling less than hospitable.

"Is everything you own in here?" Emily had abandoned the airplane and was now back in business mode.

"No," he cleared his throat. "I have some stuff in the attic." If she noticed the change in his voice or body language, she gave no indication.

"Great," she jumped up. "Let's go."

"Yeah," he muttered, "let's go."

They made their way to the hallway, going up another flight of stairs until they reached a dead end. Chris pulled down the rope that hung down and out came a small ladder to climb. "Ladies first," he motioned.

Emily gave him an eye roll but went anyway. "Whoa, it's so cool up here!" she said excitedly. "Come on Chris! Come on!"

Chris climbed up, poking his head inside the attic. He was surprised not to see his friend insight. "Emily?" he called tentatively, crawling all the way in. There was no answer. "Em?" he turned around and about jumped a foot in the air. "Emily, don't do that!" he clenched his chest as his heart was beating erratically.

"Sorry," she bounced around him, taking everything in. "Wow, a real attic! This is so cool!"

"You've seen an attic before," he reminded her. "You had one in your barn."

She stopped bouncing to glance at him flatly. "Barn attics aren't the same, _Christopher_."

"Well excuse me, _Emily_ ," he mocked.

She cracked a grin. This was one of the rare times she was able to get him to relax and tease her. He was way too serious. Maybe living with her would loosen him up.

He cleared his throat. "Can we hurry up and get this done? I want to get back to the apartment before the sun goes down."

Emily saluted to him. "Yes sir!" she said sarcastically. Turning around, she ooed and awed at everything she saw. Chris stood there, watching her as she squealed happily over his old train set she'd found. Emily was just a big kid, he thought. For some reason it bothered him and he hated himself for feeling that way about his first friend.

"I think we're done here," Chris said suddenly, feeling uncomfortable after five minutes passed by. "I don't see anything I need in here. Let's go." He was nearly to the ladder when Emily's excited voice made him reconsider.

"Look what I found!" Chris figured he would humor her. It was probably nothing. He whirled around to find her holding something he hadn't seen in years.

Winnie the Pooh.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING! I had no inspiration for this fic and I wanted to wait until I had some. This wasn't exactly the way I wanted to go for this chapter but it'll do. Enjoy!**

He had to get away.

"CHRIS! WAIT UP!"

Emily was behind him, rushing to catch up; her feet pounding the floor with each step. She was fast, but he was faster.

He hadn't meant to un off like that; it was an impulse decision. Seeing the bear in her arms, seeing the irritating bright grin she wore, watching as she held it around its middle just as how he used to do it when he was a child, it stirred up a frenzy of emotions that he'd kept buried for a very long time. It wouldn't have happened if she had only respected the privacy for his belongings, he reasoned. Who goes snooping through boxes that don't concern them? One by one she picked up the stuffed animals in the box, going from the bear to the tiger to the rabbit and so on. It was a miracle he didn't have a nervous breakdown.

 _C'mon, Chris, it's just a stuffed animal. No use getting all worked up over it_.

But he _was_ worked up over it. He knew he shouldn't have suggested they go up there.

 _So why did you?_

That was a good question. Why had he wanted to go up there anyway? Perhaps for nostalgia's sake. Going up had been a mistake, one that he would certainly never make again

"CHRISTOPHER ROBIN!"

Typically that nickname caused some kind of reaction from him, irritation usually. But at the moment, he was so troubled that it didn't even register.

"Chris wait!" she said breathlessly. Humoring her, he promptly stopped midway down the long staircase. Her cheeks were tinted with red as she leaned against the rail for support. " Are you okay? Dude, I'm sorry I went through your stuff. I was just curious."

Curious.

He'd been curious once, and it only got him into trouble. "I know," he finally spoke, avoiding all eye contact.

Emily shifted her weight awkwardly. Apologizing clearly wasn't something she was used to. "Are you, er, mad at me or something?"

As much as he wanted to be, as much as he deserved to be, he couldn't; not at her. "No," he reassured. "I'm not, I promise." She brightened up considerably.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "Let's go back up and finish packing."

"Hold on," he said loudly as she turned back to face him with a slight frown on her face. "We're not going back to the attic."

"But we're not done yet," she looked crushed at not being able to explore further. "Didn't you say you needed something up there?"

He inwardly cursed at his carelessness. "I know," he bit down on his tongue, "but I just remembered everything I need is in my room. Now let's finish before the sun goes down." The bright sunshine was flooding through the open curtains, heating up his back and hitting Emily square in the face. Before long it would begin to go down for the night.

"Oh, okay," she slumped a bit, disappointed by the lost opportunity. They'd nearly made it to the top when his mother came mincing out of the parlor and up the stairs, tray in hand.

"Oh hello dears," not noticing their flinches by the sudden noise of her voice, she continued, "are you two done yet? I have a snack for both of you."

Chris refused to acknowledge his growling stomach when he declined the offer. "That's okay, Ma. Em and I are probably just gonna grab something on the way. We still have a ways to go, anyway." He didn't notice Emily practically drooling over the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

"Are you sure?" his mother rambled. "It's getting late out. Maybe you two could spend the night."

"No," Chris said firmly while Emily's face lit up then dropped. "We're fine."

"But Christoper," his mother's shrilly voice was wearing on him.

"I said no!" he snapped, being much harsher than he'd intended.

"Watch that tone Christopher," she warned. "You may be twenty but that does not mean you can be disrespectful."

As if his little freak out from the attic wasn't embarrassing enough, he had to endure a scolding in front of Emily, too. It was humiliating and degrading. Couldn't his mother realize he wasn't a child anymore that needs protecting?

"We'll be done in ten minutes. C'mon, Em." without another word, he turned on his heels with the intention of heading back to his room

"Err, I'll be there in a moment," Emily reached out for a cookie, dropping it when he yelled out, "Come _on_ , Emily!" She gave his mother an apologetic smile before darting up the stairs.

"Did you really have to be so rude to her?" Emily inquired as she taped another box, preparing to take it to her car. "She was just being nice."

Chris rolled his eye. She wouldn't understand. No one would understand. "You don't get it," he could feel his frustration brewing, "you just don't get it."

"What don't I get?" she asked coolly yet patiently. Sometimes he hated how calm she could be. It took every ounce of self control not to blow up at the most trivial things while she remained perfectly fine. It was unfair. Completely, utterly unfair. Her face softened. "Chris, are you okay? You've been acting really weird today, you know, more than usual," she joked, trying to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it did nothing but make him scowl.

"I'm fine!" he snapped then instantly regretted it. If she was hurt she didn't indicate it. "Can we just drop it? Please?"

Emily narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with a defiant look he'd come accustomed to. "You're going to tell me eventually," she said matter-of-factly. He had no doubt she would find a way to know. Until then, it was his family's little secret. "You know," she noticed he jumped but didn't comment on that, "your stuffed animals are really cool. Mine are kind of broken, some are but yours are in perfect condition."

If this was her attempt at small talk, he didn't appreciate it. "What's so cool about stuffed animals?" he scoffed. A thought entered his mind and he asked with slight horror, "You don't play with them still, do you?" The forts he could handle. The play pretend he could handle. He could handle any other aspect of her childlike personality, except for that.

"I wouldn't call it play," she said and he relaxed. "But Lollipop, Mr. Quackie, Snuffles and I do enjoy a mean game of hide and seek." Chris groaned, thinking of all he'd have to deal with once they were all moved in. Just his luck.

"Christopher, this is nonsense," his mother rushed in, flustered as she watched the room he'd occupied since he was a baby become bare. "Now you put those things down this instant and have a snack. You know you get hungry around this time."

"No, Mother!" he slammed the box he was holding to the ground and hoped it was just clothes inside. "I'm tired of being bossed around and I'm tired of living here." He ignored the sure sign of hurt on her face. If he didn't, he'd cave in and that was exactly what he didn't want to do. Hoping to distract himself, he instructed Emily to start taking the boxes outside so they could be put in his and her car. She'd generously offered to take some of his things so it would get done faster. Even though she was a bit odd, she was also very kind.

"But Christopher," his mother spluttered. "You use to love living here. What changed?"

Chris debated on telling his mother the reason, but, then again, he didn't even know the real reason. Indeed, he'd loved his house more than anything. Some of his best memories were in the house, but as time went on, his once happy home became nothing more than a pile of memories that he wished would be forgotten.

"Are we most done, Em?" deciding to ignore the conversation, he turned back to his friend who was still lugging out boxes.

"Well, _I'm_ almost done. You're the one standing there lollygagging," Emily told him with her usual sass. He barely caught the box she so casually tossed to him. "Take that and make yourself useful."

"Tyrant," Chris muttered moodily.

It took longer than the anticipated ten minutes, perhaps an hour or so had gone by but they finally finished among his mother's attempted intervention. She was not at all happy at the turn out, not that Chris cared. He was so tense from their words exchanged that he pulled in all of what he could in Emily's car and, without more than a single, lose sideways hug to his mother, he urged her to drive.

"What about your car?" Emily inquired from the drover's seat, never taking her eyes off the road ahead.

"I'll come back and get it," he replied briskly.

Neither said a word for a long time. The drive to the new apartment was only forty-five minutes, they'd been on the road for maybe ten, yet felt like an eternity. "You know," her voice startled him from his daze, "we haven't discussed decorating."

"Decorating what?" he asked dumbly.

Emily rolled her eyes, muttering about boys being idiots under her breath. "The _apartment_ dumb dumb. How are we going to decorate the apartment?"

"Oh," he uttered. Personally, he didn't particularly care as long as she didn't make it look like something out of a child's room. It had to look good, sophisticated. They were twenty years old, it needed that adult charm to it. "I'm not sure. How about you decorate your room and I'll do everything else?" he suggested. Emily was lazy by nature, she would definitely agree.

Only, she didn't. As she pulled to a stop in front of a red light, she twisted her body to face him. "Why do you get to decorate everything?" It was evidently clear she was not happy with the arrangements.

Instantly, he felt a pang of guilt for his thoughts. True, Emily was childish by nature, but she could also be serious and understanding. He could just tell her why...

 _No, no you won't. You promised that you would never bring it up. What would Father say?_

" _I have had enough of this Hundred Acre Wood nonsense._

 _If you cannot separate yourself they will have to go._

 _I don't want to hear you even breathe in that attic unless your mother and I say it's okay. Do you hear me, Christopher Robin Milne?"_

"Chris," Emily nudged him but he was so lost in thought he barely felt it. "CHRIS!"

"Huh?" he jolted, smacking his head on the passenger door. "Owww," he moaned.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed. "You've been acting weird since we went into the attic. Are you going to explain it to me or not?"

"Not," he chose stubbornly. "I don't have to tell you anything Emily. It's none of your business." Why was the drive so freaking slow? All he wanted to do was hop out and walk but that would lead to another string of questions. It was like she purposely strolled the car along agonizingly slow, that way he had no chance of escape.

"I just helped you move, I'm also going to be living with you. We can't keep secrets, Chris. This won't work out if we do," she pointed out.

He knew she was right, he hated that she was right.

"Not now," he pleaded, buying himself time. "Please, can it wait?"

Emily clicked her tongue. "I suppose."

The drive didn't last too much longer. She pulled up to the apartment complex, struggling to park due to the excessive amount of luggage in the trunk. The sun had long set, if it weren't for the street lamps, it would be pitch black outside. Chris wasted no time in unpacking; he was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. Imagine his surprise, and aggravation, upon realizing the only items in the trunk were a couple days worth of clothes, a small lamp, and boxes of useless junk from his bedroom.

"This is great," he seethed, "this is just great!" Now what was he supposed to do? There were no pajamas, no bed covers, no pillow, no toiletries or hairbrush.

Fortunately, Emily had a solution. "Chris, it's okay," she told him, a little astounded by his behavior. "You can use my bed covers tonight and I have extra pillows, extra toothbrushes and you can use my hairbrush _if_ you clean it," the last part was her attempt at a joke but he was in no mood to play along.

"Fine," he replied snippily, causing her to glare. He shouldn't felt some twinge of guilt; it wasn't her fault he'd packed the wrong things. "Just-can we go in? I'm tired of standing out here." By now, he was whining ( _persistently pursuing_ , he dubbed it), though he had an excuse. It was in the middle of summer and even late at night it was still fairly warm out; so excuse him for wanting a feel of the air condition.

"As you wish, Sire," Emily retorted sarcastically. She turned on her heel, throwing a glance back over her shoulder. "Are you sure the stairs are okay for you or would you rather have me carry you?"

Chris massaged his temples. Sometimes he didn't know _why_ he agreed to live with Emily. "I'll manage, thanks," he said dryly. Seemingly satisfied by the lack of venom in his tone, she skipped up to the door, almost patting herself down as she searched for their house key. "Don't tell me you can't find it?" he groaned whilst she checked her skirt pockets and even her socks.

"Nope!" she held up the key, having pulled it off her back. "I forgot I put it there." Wincing, she ripped off the tape that held it together. Chris watched the scene wearily.

"You taped the key on your _back_?"

"Yes," she spoke as if it were normal, like she just ordered hamburgers. He didn't even attempt to understand her reasoning.

It only made him appreciate the dark, after all, what would the neighbors think!?

"Come on," she opened the door, grinning like a loon, "let's go see our apartment!" They'd already seen it-as buyers-now they were renters which was a different story.

"In a minute," he instructed. "Come help me carry some things, please," he added at her raised eyebrows. Emily hurriedly made her way over, grabbing 3 large, and heavy, boxes at once. He was thoroughly impressed with her strength. "Do you work out?"

"Me?" she snorted at its absurdity. "No."

Chris tilted his head. "Then how are you so strong?" he questioned.

If she hadn't had those boxes in her arms, she would've shrugged. "I did use to live on a farm. We had to carry stuff left and right. It wasn't just feeding chickens and milking cows, you know." That made sense. It was odd, because of her nonchalant attitude, that she held an air of responsibility when talking about the farm. It made him grasp on to the tiny glimmer of hope he had; maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe there was more to Emily Warren than toys and games. "Are you coming?" she was already up the stairs, showing no indication of weakness from the heavy boxes she was _still_ holding onto.

"Yeah, yeah," he grabbed all of what he could carry, a measly box and the lampshade, and together they trudged up the stairs until they were at the very top level. Apartment 612 was tucked away in the corner of the hallway. If you zoomed by, you'd miss it. Chris was breathless by the time they arrived while Emily was still going strong.

"Oh, boy, oh boy, oh boy," she set all of what was in her arms down, and unlocked the door. The lightswitch was on the inside over on the right. "Dude, this looks great!"

"You've seen it already," he reminded her. "Remember? That's how we met?"

Like a cat, she huffed through her nose. " _I_ _know_. Honestly, you think I don't remember? I'm just excited, that's all."

One minute she was mad, the next she was happy and excited and now annoyed. _Girls are weird._

"So," he gazed down at his watch, "we've still got time. Wanna unpack what I have?"

"Sure," she agreed. They only had a few more things anyway. Once all of his belongings were where they should be, he sighed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. That was a workout just by itself. He decided to busy himself with the task of dusting off the kitchen and living room. It was then that he noticed something peculiar.

"Hey-where's your stuff?"

They'd spent the afternoon working on him that he hadn't even thought of Emily. Now that made him feel guilty.

"Huh?" she came waltzing out, presumably out of her bedroom, wearing a confused expression.

"Where's your stuff? Did you forget it? Just give me your address and I'll go get it," he rambled on, oblivious to her amusement. It didn't matter that he'd spent majority of the day angry at her. She was his friend-and he wasn't about to let her go off late at night by herself.

"Chris, Chris," she interjected. "It's okay. I've got some stuff. I came by earlier to drop some stuff off before I went to your place."

"Oh," was the only reply he found suitable. "Okay."

"Thank you for offering though," she smiled sweetly. Chris had a feeling it was a bit of a put on for his sake, she wasn't the kind of girl who wanted other people to do things for her. She was very independent, from what he'd gathered in the short time they'd known each other.

"No problem," he nodded. "You know I'd do anything for you."

Emily glanced at him from under her eyelashes. "So it would appear," she commented.

 **So, how was that? Good? Bad? I apologize for the slight shortness. I wanted to make it longer but at the same time I wanted to update it. Hopefully updates will be done in a more timely manner.**


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